


is it money or is it fate?

by noctornal



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Mild Smut, Multi, Mystery, Thriller, i don't know how to use this website lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctornal/pseuds/noctornal
Summary: Kyungsoo and Luhan are tasked an unusual assassination mission, but it takes them dangerously long until they realize it comes with a lot of baggage and the world isn't as they'd expected.A genre-splattering of supernatural powers, an assassins club, an assassin-turned-government-agent, and some unhealthy friends with benefits (ChanSoo, what would you expect). It's an alternate world but it's just like ours, driven by money, lust, and a lot of impulse.





	is it money or is it fate?

**Author's Note:**

> hello world. i used to write on livejournal and tumblr and shit but that was four years ago (lmao ik). BUT I'M BACK FROM THE DEAD for no good reason.....,,
> 
> Also please note I started writing this when it was ot11/12 lmao i'm sorry pls forgive

Jongdae is quietly counting the leaves engraved into the handle of the coffee mug when Kim Junmyeon strides into his peripheral vision, clad in a red hoodie and black jeans, his steps audacious, his grin decidedly malicious.

“Nice touch of the cufflinks, Dae. A little too professional to pass as a college boy, though, don’t you think?” Junmyeon sneers as he slides into the seat opposite Jongdae, who hadn’t bothered to wear something other than a business professional suit.

Jongdae shrugs, as if it’s okay if they figure out who he really is. It never matters much, anyways.

“Don’t you guys own this place? These are all fakes.” He continues to trace the pattern on his cup, long since empty, the ceramic cool under his fingertips. A waiter comes to ask for Junmyeon’s order. He gives her a mild smile and asks for a cortado.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Junmyeon's face goes cold as he turns back to Jongdae. There’s a thrill in his voice. He's wanted to say that phrase a million times before. Now he has it. Bastard.

“How’s life? On the other side.”

Junmyeon shrugs, but Jongdae knows without even looking up that the right words will only trigger him into an excited spiel of stories and show-offy feats.

“It’s... better,” he says after a prolonged pause. Staring, “better than when I was with you guys.”

Jongdae shrugs. Kim Junmyeon is the classic case of bad gone good—but not really _good_ . Because Jongdae knows he still finds thrill in killing, still feels his heart beat faster when there’s blood on his hands, still finds meaning in life when he’s sitting under the moonlight with a tool and a plan. But he had always been too chicken, too weak, too weary of rules and consequences to dive himself into the true beauty of killing. The _art_ of it. He had turned around before any of them realized that he had been planning desertion ever since the November client had almost bailed them out.

“But that’s the past,” Junmyeon says between pursed lips, a smug look clouding over his face. “I’m here for business.”

“Business?”

He hands Jongdae a manila folder. Inside, a young billionaire named Huang Zitao looks up at him. He looks a little jaded for his age, perhaps even a little lifeless. A part of him pities the kid, but the thought fades as he reads further into his profile.

Jongdae raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“What is this?”

“We need you,” Junmyeon says. He looks around. “Why don’t we go for a ride? I have a car waiting outside.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. Junmyeon must be having the time of his life.

“Sehuuuuun!”

Sehun flinches in fear when he hears Baekhyun’s uninvited voice bellows into the preparation room from afar, his deep-voiced laugh launching across the hallway like no other. He closes his eyes shut, _shit,_ as he shoves his phone into his pocket in a hurry. _Why the fuck is he here_.

“Long time no see!” Footsteps approach the doorway.

Sehun hurriedly wipes off the makeup from his show that had finished minutes ago, grabs his jacket from the chair, and rushes for the back door. With an urgent ‘thank you’ to his assistant, he dives for the doorknob--

“Woah, woah!” Someone grabs his arm from behind, “You can’t leave me now, can you, my dear friend?”

Sehun lets out a sharp sigh. “What is it?”

“No, no,” Baekhyun waves, his gestures wild and his gaze fidgeting from rabid excitement. “Sit down, sit down.” He throws out a chair from under one of the tables and drops his weight into it. He swings his feet happily. “You should sit down to hear this one. It’s real.”

“Real?” Sehun asks wearily. “Baekhyun, what can you possibly say that is real?”

“Everything!" His arms shoot out in exaggeration. "Everything is real. And possible. Come on, dude, you have to hear me out. I’m serious this time. It’s something entirely new.”

“Baekhyun,” Sehun sighs. “I’ve learned how to gain profits from my talents. I don’t really need anything anymore.” Unlike you.

“But isn’t your life _boring_ ? You’re always doing the same performance--and for you, it’s just mundane work--think about it! Doing the same thing every day, a trivial task others find fascinating--don’t you want a _change_? And it’s real this time--I swear--it’s real. I’ve never heard anything like this before, Sehun, you have to hear me out. You’re the only one who’d believe me, anyways. Do it for my sanity.”

It’s like this every goddamn time. He stares at Baekhyun, an old time friend who doesn’t know how to let go. A weight sits in his chest, something between obligation and pity.

“Fine,” he says. “For your sanity.” If you have any left.

Baekhyun grins. “I knew you’d listen, Sehun. You always do.”

Sehun rolls his eyes.

“I read a government official last Tuesday.”

"You _what_?" He jerks forward.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun shrugs, like it’s no big deal. He leans forward to whisper in faux confidentiality, “And guess what? We’re in deep shit.”

Sehun feels a tinge of jealousy again, because--hell, he can’t read minds. All he can do is move objects. The only thing it’s useful for is impressing people and, oh, he doesn’t know--war, maybe?

“Shut up,” Baekhyun sneers, “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted telekinesis.”

Sehun shrugs. Right. Telepathy doesn’t exclude Sehun. He almost forgot.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Anyways, where was I--oh yeah, deep shit.” He wrings his hands together. “So apparently the West Central States are in deep shit. For real.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our economy? The economic boom, the rise in stock prices, the decrease in poverty, the surplus in natural resources? It’s all a mask. We’re in an economic depression. And hear this--it’s _secret_. The government was stupid enough to try to suppress it and deal with it themselves behind their locked doors and shit. And they’re in too deep now. They’re stuck.”

He looks at Sehun smugly, who blinks as he does a double take.

“This is for real, Sehun. the WCS is officially in its first economic depression since, like, fifty millennia.”

“What?” He finally blinks, then raises his eyebrows dubiously. “That’s impossible, I mean--”

“No, seriously. I’m serious. It was completely by chance, but I was lucky enough to come across him and listen to his thoughts. And, look, okay--the secrecy--they’re doing it to suppress rebellion. They don’t want to deal with another revolt because the last one ended with--” he pauses, raising his eyebrows in the sort of way that only means _you know_.

Sehun nods. “Yeah.”

“And oh yeah, get this--” he leans forward, eyes sparkling with excitement. “They’re planning on resolving it by killing someone.”

Sehun blinks, then raises his eyebrows. “Baek, have you gone back to--”

“Two years sober, I promise you,” he says, lifting his hands up in defense. “But look, it doesn’t mean I can’t hear people’s minds anymore. There are weirder things out there that I don’t tell you about, Sehun. People are batshit crazy. Crazier than you think. I’m telling you this only because it’s relevant not just to that classy-ass government official--it’s relevant to like, the entire world.”

“How does killing even--”

“I know. I don’t know either. But one thing’s sure--they’ve dug their own grave.” Baekhyun crosses his arms. “And we might get buried along with them.”

“Where did you even find him?”

“The guy took public transit. I spent the entire ride trying to scour through his mind.”

“What? Did you follow him? What if they know about you?” Sehun throws his hands up. “And why would he be out in public like--”

“--they don’t always ride in black Sedans, Sehun.” He shakes his head. “That shit is more conspicuous, sometimes. Sometimes blending in is safer than dressing in a suit and riding fancy-ass black cars. Years on the streets gives me this kind of knowledge.”

“I--” Sehun pauses. He sighs. “So assuming-- _assuming_ you’re right.” (Baekhyun rolls his eyes.) “Assuming what you just said is all true, what good is it for you? What is it going to do?”

“I don’t know. Do something about it, maybe. This is a massive piece of information. You might know what to do with it. You’re the only one who knows about ESC. That’s why I came to you.”

  


As Junmyeon leaves the cafe, he opens his phone to a couple of messages.

“someone’s following you,” it reads. “black hair, big ears, maroon hoodie and black pants. i’ll be at the train station. will make sure of his origin. check tracker in approx 5 hrs”

Junmyeon closes his phone and places it in his pocket. He lifts his head up slowly to glance at the street signs with a disinterested face.

  


Baekhyun is at home, ten at night, taking his clothes off for a shower after a long day. He throws off his maroon hoodie. A bottle cap rolls out of the pocket, a thick blue plastic, kind of like a Dasani water bottle cap.

“The fuck?” he picks it up and examines it. How the hell could it have gone into his pocket?

He rolls it around in his hand, then aims a throw at the garbage can on the other side of the room. He misses.

“Fuck,” he shrugs, then enters the bathroom.

  


Kyungsoo’s legs are trembling with his hands pressed between his thighs. He listens to the accompanying shaking of Jongdae’s legs, a shaggy sound against the wooden chair. They’ve been like that for a good fifteen minutes. No words, no greetings.

They’re in the living room of 312 Dryden Avenue, a spindly roadway that traces the outskirts of town. The previous owner had left in a hurry, leaving them with a dilapidated house and a couple of rusty keys. He, too, had probably been involved in some questionable things. Nobody moves out that haphazardly, otherwise.

312 had been the perfect place to set up camp. With either absent or nonexistent neighbors, the place had met every criteria as a dusty, uninviting, and moderately clandestine meeting ground.

Three years in, not much has really changed. It’s done its fair bit of aging, but only in the way one would expect. Peeling floral wallpapers, rusty stove, a faint odor. Though every once in a while, Jongdae comes in to clean the place as a bit of a therapeutic exercise. It’s probably the least fatal routine he goes through twice a month, and he makes sure that none of the kids know about his grandma duties. The last thing they need to know is that he has a separate Google account for watching knitting videos. Nevertheless, a man needs to meditate every once in a while. Cleaning is his pause.

Jongdae eventually breaks the silence. “What’s taking the fucker so long?”

“Which fucker,” a voice booms as the door opens with a dramatic creak, “because I’ve been waiting for him too.”

“Luhan,” Kyungsoo sighs.

“You’re late.”

“I know, Jongdae. I know. But you know what? I’m the most important. So it was worth the wait, wasn’t it?” He grins, flashing his white teeth.

Kyungsoo takes his hands out from between his thighs to make a fist on his lap. “Asshole,” he mutters.

Luhan leaps back. “Woah,” he says. “Why’s Kyungsoo here?”

“For your information,” Kyungsoo grits, “I’ve had a better hit rate for the past year, Luhan. You might have the talent, but you also have the inconsistency. That’s why I’m here.”

“Fine,” Luhan smiles. “I’ll take it. You work hard.” He aggressively pats Kyungsoo on the back before seating himself on the other side of the wooden table. He turns to Jongdae. “So what’s up To-Dae, Boss ‘Dae?”

Kyungsoo cringes. Jongdae remains unaffected. “We have business."

"I've heard--"

"Don't tell me what you've heard, Kyungsoo," Jongdae cuts him off sharply, "You know how this goes."

"So it's serious this time," Kyungsoo deduces coolly.

"We have a big client."

“No client is too big for us,” Luhan says. “We’ve done it all--”

“The government.”

“The what?”

"Yeah." Jongdae pauses for a moment, swallowing dryly. “They’re asking us for help.”

“Is this Junmyeon?” Kyungsoo asks.

“We must be in deep shit,” Luhan snorts. “What kind of fucked up situation have they gotten themselves into?”

He cracks a grin, picking at his teeth. He’s already made himself at home, just like he does anywhere, his legs crossed over, back slouched, one arm leaning against the table.

Never once had the government admitted that organized systems were less efficient than anarchic kill-by-hire-no-questions-asked groups like Jongdae’s. This would be a huge hit to their ego. A low-key hitman group like theirs, conspiring with the fucking government? Who were they kidding?

“How did they find us? You’ve talked to them?”

“They’re--it’s an economic situation. (“Shit,” Luhan mutters.) And it’s not one of those baby down-times where the curve bends downwards a little. I’m talking about we’re facing decades of irreparable damages. Mayhem, debt, unemployment like never before.”

“What did they do? Engage in some massive international gambling?”

“Funnily enough,” Jongdae says, “that’s kind of what they did. Ever heard of Magnolia?”

Magnolia is the sole source of the Western Central States’ livelihood. What began as a way to detach the region from the Eastern States after years of political strain soon became a power in itself, a country in the making. Only a decade ago it had been a modest corporate farm supplying about 30% of the state’s crops and livestock. Now it stands the only stable supplier for the region, in some ways gaining independence for the WCS and in others, a dangerous breeding ground for revolution.

“Yeah, the farm. Everyone knows Magnolia.”

“Not just any farm,” he retorts. “The biggest one in the nation. The source of 85% of our food.”

“Why are we talking about aggies? I thought we were talking about gambling.”

“That’s the point,” Jongdae turns to Luhan. “Magnolia was the biggest gamble our country has made in the past fifty years.”

“Figuratively speaking.”

“Figuratively speaking,” he agrees. “In some ways it still very much involves money, though. But it’s becoming too powerful. Whispers of rebellion. You know how it goes.”

“So we bring the fucking anarchy.”

“Essentially.”

Magnolia, it turns out, is no ordinary farm. Its origin dates much before it was even needed by the state; Huang Zitao had created it as more of a self-sustaining living commune based around community and cooperative living. Some called it a cult, but most considered it fairly benign. It never really gathered much traction beyond the people who couldn’t really afford their own housing.

“We really have to kill someone, though? Rebellions never really work out.”

Jongdae ignores him. “Apparently Huang has been pocketing some part of the profits for a while. If he cuts off his ties with the rest of the state, we’re not going to have food for a while. We can do without the tech plants, but food is undeniable.”

“Huh,” Luhan mutters, baffled. “You know, I did hear that Magnolia was pretty chill. Couple of friends went there a year or so ago.”

“You heard from them?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.” A pause. “Fuck, man.”

Jongdae shrugs. “A cult, or something.”

“So the guy’s threatening to make his own country?”

“Basically.”

Luhan laughs. “What a dumbass.”

“But where do we come in?” Kyungsoo quips.

Jongdae sighs. “Right.” He closes his eyes slowly, clenches his fists before saying, “Junmyeon.”

“Knew it was that motherfucker.”

“Who else would it be?” Kyungsoo snaps. “Nobody else there knows about us.”

Jongdae shrugs, then makes a sour smile. “They told him to get rid of the guy.”

“Who?”

“The guy who runs the place. Huang Zitao. Anyways the government wants him rid.”

“And Junmyeon’s the hired assassin?”

“It was tasked to him, basically,” Jongdae explains.

“Dipshit,” Luhan mutters.

“But why us?” Kyungsoo insists.

“Why not is the real question.”

“What?”

“You know how he is,” Luhan rolls his eyes, “Bossing us around and all. Moves to the fucking po-po and does the same shit, even if it means crossing borders to shake hands.”

“Ass,” Kyungsoo curses. “What if we don’t do it?”

“Spotlight,” Luhan sings.

“Basically.” Jongdae nods his head tersely. “All we need to know is that he has the upper hand right now. We operate under secrecy. Him going to the gov was a huge ‘fuck you’ to begin with, and we’ve been in danger since. It’s a good thing we’re on good terms, but now he’s using his position to his advantage.” Kyungsoo shakes his head.

“Upper hand, my ass,” Luhan hisses. “That fucking--”

“The thing is,” Jongdae cuts in sharply, “We can’t do anything. We’re still coping with his loss. One man down--one of our best men--”

“--not one of the best if he’s a fucking coward--”

“--one of our most skilled men is gone and we’re left to cope with what we have left.”

“Hey!” Luhan frowns, his ego hurt.

Jongdae shrugs. “You and Junmyeon have been rivaling for too long. You both had your pros and cons.”

“And now he’s holding hands with the police,” Kyungsoo whispers, “where he can do whatever he wants in broad daylight--”

“It’s not that simple,” Jongdae says, “but it’s pretty similar. In other words, if you don’t want to live on the streets or in jail, you’ve got to get this one done.”

“Are we getting paid?”

“We are.”

“That fucking dipshit,” Luhan hisses, “paying us like he’s our boss and he’s handing out salary. Just a year ago I could have shot him in his sleep--”

“If he’s screwing us over?”

“Then he’s screwing us over and we’ve killed another guy. I’m sure someone somewhere will appreciate it.” Jongdae’s face is eerily stoic.

Silence.

“This is all classified information,” Jongdae adds. “Tell a soul and I’m slitting your throat. Someone is leaking something because last time--”

“Chanyeol--”

“Exactly. I’m not one to kill off my men based on suspicions, but we all know who it probably was. He hasn’t come back in a while and it’s a good thing. He ruins too much.”

“He gets things done.”

“Sloppily. We don’t like that. So I’m delegating this one to you two--currently our two top hitmen.”

“Fine.”

  


When Kyungsoo emerges from his bathroom after a hot shower to get into bed for a long night’s sleep, he doesn’t take much notice of the disheveled blankets scrunched up on his bed--he’s too tired to think or notice properly. But as he begins to straighten them out, he recalls that he had already done this in the morning--

“Chanyeol?” he calls out carefully, the hairs standing up on his neck as he looks around.

A figure appears in his bedroom doorway. “You never told me you had coke.”

Kyungsoo snatches the bag out of his hand. “They’re just--old. Don’t--don’t ask.” He stuffs it into his desk drawer blindly and closes the door.

Turning around, he asks, “What brings you here?”

Chanyeol grins. “You.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, trying to suppress his smile. “What do you want.”

He laughs. “My rent was overdue and the guy wouldn’t take any more, so he kicked me out. Just going to be here for a few days before I can find some place else.” He looks Kyungsoo up and down. 

“I promise I won’t get in the way of your work,” he adds.

“Don’t tell Chanyeol” in Jongdae’s voice flashes across Kyungsoo’s mind. Of course, Jongdae wouldn’t know--nobody knows--about their relationship. If an occasional come-and-go for some heated sex and snarky comments counts as one, that is.

“Are you sure?” Kyungsoo folds his hands together carefully, twisting them around a little in discomfort. “Maybe I can find you a place--”

“Why? Is there something you’re keeping from me?” His eyes glimmer with a piercing opal color. Chanyeol was probably the most risky decision of Kyungsoo’s life. He catches onto things quickly--a great asset for a coworker but a dangerous one for an adversary. It was what made him such a great assassin.

“I--no,” Kyungsoo sighs. “Where are your belongings?”

Chanyeol opens his arms widely. “I am my belonging.” 

Kyungsoo doesn’t ask any further. A silence settles onto the room as Chanyeol stares at Kyungsoo intently.

“Did you miss me,” he breathes, his voice different. Kyungsoo fidgets under his gaze, trying to maintain a safe distance.

“I--,” Kyungsoo hesitates. Chanyeol, despite his nosiness and unappreciated sarcasm, has a place in Kyungsoo’s heart. Maybe it’s because they had been childhood friends, once an amicable relationship like any other childhood buddy story. He was the only person who knew about Kyungsoo’s complexities with his family, the only one who offered him concrete consolation, the one who introduced him to Jongdae in the first place. Maybe it’s his deep-voiced laugh that somehow untangles every knot in Kyungsoo’s chest, every knot that tightens with every pull of the trigger. Somehow Chanyeol knows how to undo everything in Kyungsoo--the combination of his sheepish grin and his baritone voice wipes his brain of any cognitive capability.

Tenderly, Chanyeol leans forward to grab Kyungsoo’s face, bending down for a careful meeting of the lips. Immediately, almost instinctively, Kyungsoo closes his eyes, pressing his face into it, his hands already clinging to Chanyeol’s face, thumbs pressing against his ears. Chanyeol works his way down Kyungsoo’s neck and Kyungsoo lets out a soft sigh as warm lips press into his skin. Almost desperate, Chanyeol rushes to undo Kyungsoo’s pants, stumbling with the zipper as he feels Kyungsoo’s dick hard against the restraint of the fabric.

It’s systematic, the way they move, their actions embedded into habit. Kyungsoo’s trousers fall to the floor as Chanyeol’s mouth, warm around Kyungsoo’s cock, works hungrily around his head and down the length. Kyungsoo lets out a few gasps, feeling the heat as it works its way up into his chest, trembling. When he comes, Chanyeol swallows him down wordlessly sucking until he leans back, letting it slide out of his mouth. He looks up at Kyungsoo with a wild grin, licking the semen off his lips.

“Missed me?” He repeats, his voice grating against Kyungsoo’s skin, just the way he likes it.

Kyungsoo just pulls at Chanyeol’s pants in response. With a few swift motions, Chanyeol is undone, and Kyungsoo begins to work on his cock with gentle hands.

On the bed, Chanyeol straddles him, feeling the inside of his thighs, his cheeks, lube greasing his fingers and leaving Kyungsoo’s skin shining. He works a finger into the entrance, then another, dissolving Kyungsoo into a heated mess of groans and desperate whimpers.

“Just--” he starts in frustration, and Chanyeol chuckles knowingly. Kyungsoo lets out a cry , his cheeks tightening around Chanyeol’s cock as Chanyeol moves in hard, rhythmic motions. Hungry for more, Kyungsoo rocks upwards. Chanyeol’s hands are grabbing at Kyungsoo’s ass, moving around to grip his hips as he desperately tries to thrust faster. He feels the majesty, his body transcending, his ears ringing to the sound of something holy. Momentarily everything is forgotten and Kyungsoo feels completely alone with Chanyeol, two bodies ascending into the clouds. Chanyeol’s moans pierce his spotted fantasy as he comes into Kyungsoo, on Kyungsoo, against his thighs and his back. 

As the air simmers down, Chanyeol and Kyungsoo just lay there, staring at each other intently.

Suddenly, Kyungsoo feels a rush of anger come over him as he remembers that he had told himself to stay away from Chanyeol for the time being. This is a matter of being spotlighted as an entire group, he curses to himself. What a dumbass move to let Chanyeol in.

“So I guess that’s a yes? I can stay here?” Chanyeol smirks, reaching his hand out to brush a strand of hair from Kyungsoo’s eyes.

Kyungsoo slaps Chanyeol’s hand away. “Who said you could come into my house without asking?”

Chanyeol laughs. “Hey, for one of the houses I came consensually,” he slaps Kyungsoo’s butt.

Kyungsoo sighs sharply. He doesn’t answer. Chanyeol has a place in Kyungsoo’s heart, maybe, but Kyungsoo can’t really tell if it’s really love--the love that’s fantasized in romance books, the love that brings heated sex but also soft giggles and planned dinner dates. Kyungsoo doesn’t know if he’s ready to hold Chanyeol’s hand and look into his eyes and feel a surge of protectiveness, maybe excitement. He doesn’t feel his heart palpitate with pure--pure  _ love _ \--when he sees Chanyeol’s face. It’s just an amiable feeling and the occasional need to suck his dick.

“How’s Dae doing?” Chanyeol says.

“Jongdae?” He pauses. “He’s good.”

“Does he have any jobs for me?” He lets out a soft smile. “I’m itching for the gun again. Or the knife. Whatever calls.”

Kyungsoo shudders at the remembrance of the last time he had gone on an assignment with Chanyeol. Chanyeol is good for a reason. But they stay away from him for a reason, too. Too hungry for blood. Hungry for artistry in each killing.

“No, I don’t think so.” His shoulders tense as he tries to veer the topic away from work. “Where are you planning on moving?”

Chanyeol ignores him. “What about you? Any work for you?”

“I think there was a cheap apartment place downtown next to the laundromat. I think they’re hiring, so you can always--”

“What’s your assignment this time?”

“I--I don’t have one,” Kyungsoo sighs. 

“What do they not want me to know?”

“Nothing,” Kyungsoo says sharply, turning around in his bed. “I’m going to sleep now. You can set up the futon in the living room.”

  


Baekhyun unzips his pants in front of a urinal at a diner bathroom when the door creaks open. A man approaches a urinal beside him but doesn’t unzip. Actually he doesn’t unzip for a while (what the fuck?). Eventually, he glances over and meets beeline-direct, bone-quivering eye contact with the man’s undying gaze. It hits him: this is the government dude he followed a couple of days ago. Shit.

Stay calm, Baekhyun, stay calm. It’s just a coincidence. Just piss and leave. Just piss and leave. Piss and leave.

God, so much fucking lemonade.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Baekhyun tries, except he’s bad in nervous situations like these, so it comes out more like an assertive squeak.

“Take your time. I’ll wait at your table.” The man leaves.

Baekhyun’s head races. He always forgets to read minds in the most critical of situations. Fucking nerves. What should he do--escape? Is it worth leaving his jacket and keys and half eaten hamburger? No good news can come from a man like that. He knows danger when he sees it. Maybe there’s an escape route through the bathroom. He looks around. Nope. He could call the diner later about his missing jacket. Except he hadn’t paid. Shit.

After he’s done, Baekhyun pokes his head outside of the bathroom door. A waiter walks by with two full trays in each hand, glancing questionably at Baekhyun’s bizarre reluctance to leave the bathroom.

“You alright, sir?”

“I’m good, thank you,” Baekhyun says, his face getting red. Embarrassed, he opens the door and exits fully, the door slamming shut behind him.

“You have a guest at your table, I believe,” she says. “I believe he’s paid for your meal already.”

“Oh, okay.” He glances at the other side of the diner, where the government man is sitting patiently. “Thanks.”

Paid? Maybe the dude isn’t about to kill him after all. He searches around the diner for any exits. Why the fuck did he have to get the table right next to the entrance? There’s no leaving discreetly. Dejected, he decides to confront the mystery man.

“An awfully boring place for a person who has extrasensory characteristics,” the man says when Baekhyun finally sits down at his table.

Baekhyun’s eyes widen. He looks around the diner. “How the fuck--”

“Maybe you should be doing something more worthwhile,” the man continues, a grin on his lips, “maybe something like reading government officials about top secret information?”

“How the hell do you know about ESC?” Baekhyun snaps. “ _My_ ESC.”

“Last week you tried to follow me,” the man pauses, searching for the right word, “conspicuously.”

Baekhyun curses.

“We, with our more systematic methods of tracking, followed you for a week. We noticed you displayed obvious signs of ESC.”

“How do you know about it though?” Baekhyun is alarmed. There should be nobody--and by nobody it means the fucking _government included_ \--should know about extrasensory characteristics. It gets too dangerous, then.

“Do you think, with the amount of missions we’ve worked on, that we wouldn’t come across at least one ESC-affiliated person? That none of them wanted to put their talents to use for the benefit of the country?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer. His mind is racing. How many non-ESCs know the existence of the trait?

“But that’s not the point,” the man says. “I’m Kim Junmyeon. You might know already. I’m here to--”

“Hand me the mission?” Baekhyun is alarmed. “What mission?”

Junmyeon smiles. “I want you to kill a man.”

Baekhyun does a double take. He immediately looks around at his surroundings, in case they’re within earshot of other people. “Wh-what?”

“I want you to kill a man. Or we’ll have to kill you, because currently, you have access to information that even the highest ranking government officials don’t know of. You’re on par with the leader of the FBI, me, the President, and a few other big names. Now the only option left for you is to join us in our effort or to die with the information.” He slips another smile. “I figured you’d prefer the former.”

Baekhyun swallows, then. Never before had he regretted so much his own powers. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No,” Junmyeon bats his eyelashes in a cruel way, “you don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls lmk if u like bc otherwise i will probably not continue lol


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